


Inevitable

by Newtondale



Series: Soulmates 'verse [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:58:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtondale/pseuds/Newtondale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto, like every child, was born with two digital clocks on the wrist of his non-dominant arm. One counted to the moment he would meet his soulmate, the other to the day his partner would die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ianto

**Author's Note:**

> This is far from my first fanfic, and not the first I have ever posted. However, it is the first in many years, and the first on this site. For this reason, I am quite nervous about posting it, and I would really appreciate any feedback, good or bad, to help me improve my writing in the future.
> 
> This work is based off the premise of the film TiMer.

Ianto, like every child, was born with two digital clocks on the wrist of his non-dominant arm. One dark blue, and below it another, red in colour and less stark against his skin. Since the day he was born, they had counted down: blue to the moment he would meet the one his mother called his “soulmate”, red to the day his partner would die.

 

His mother was the one who taught him about the clocks, as was the parent's job, and she was the one who told him that neither partner would die naturally before they met. In some rare cases, occurring now with increasing regularity, when one died unnaturally- was killed before they should have been, murdered in cold blood- both clocks would turn grey. The red clock was always higher than the blue one. Always.

 

Except, Ianto was different. He always had been. He was due to meet his soulmate in the weeks before his 24th birthday, but his red clock indicated his partner would die 14 years before then, when Ianto was nine. When he told his mother, she called a specialist in London, managing to set up an appointment the following day, despite the schedule being full for at least six months.

 

The specialist was well educated, one of the best in his field, and had no idea what was wrong. Technically, he told them, there was _nothing_ wrong: the clocks were working perfectly, and all his equipment informed him the information was correct. However, he requested no fee and set up an appointment with one of his colleagues in Italy.

 

When he was nine, Ianto became more concerned about the constantly shrinking red number on his wrist, growing darker by the day, and his parents started to grow frantic in their efforts to find a solution. He found himself in London when the clock reached zero, surrounded by the 'experts' who were just as concerned as he was, although less scared on a personal level.

 

Ianto was panicked, barely containing his hysteria when the clock began to flash red, then black, before going out. Before he could call out to his mother, tears now falling freely down his cheeks, the clock turned back on, set in it's usual Years-Days-Minutes-Seconds format at 1 . 54 . 12 . 56, counting down the seconds as it always had.

 

No explanation was given: there wasn't one. The 'experts' had no idea what was going on. Ianto cried in bed that night, more confused and angry than before, and scared, as always, for his partner's well-being.

 

He never told anyone about the pain he felt when the clock went out, not just emotionally, but physically. He'd felt a pain in his shoulder, as if he'd been shot, but was somehow distanced from the feeling. It was strange, he mused, the way the pain dulled after a moment, spreading slowly around his body before fading.

 

The years after followed a similar pattern. The brightest minds around Europe, and some from further afield when they happened to be in the country, had no idea what was wrong with the clock: it simply kept counting down to zero, before flashing and resetting to a seemingly random number, and repeating.

 

By the time he turned fourteen, Ianto refused to go to any more consultations, appointments, or 'reviews': there was nothing they could do. And anyway, he'd come to his own conclusion. If the clock wasn't broken, as the 'experts' assured him and his family, then it must be telling the truth. No matter how improbable, his partner just kept dying. It was the most reasonable solution, in Ianto's eyes. After all, every time the clock went out he experienced a different, but always distant, pain.

 

Still, there were only nine years left, and then Ianto could ask his partner himself. However, despite the knowledge that he would some day meet the one he'd spend the rest of his life with, he found himself wishing he could have a normal clock like his sister, now only a little over two years away from meeting her soulmate, with decades to spend with them before they died.

 

He was barely eighteen when his father died, just preparing to leave for university in London. Everyone knew that after one soulmate died, the other would soon follow, grief too much to bear for an extended period of time. He stayed for the week and a half his mother lasted, and then the funeral, before leaving for London. It wasn't that he didn't care about his parents, he did, he just couldn't bring himself to stay in Cardiff with the all too fresh memories. The house had been left to him and his sister, but he insisted Rhiannon had it, as she would need a place to live with her family when her and Johnny's first child was born in a few months.

 

Looking forward to his new start in London, where nobody would know about his anomaly of a clock, Ianto took to wearing a watch on his left wrist. It wasn't uncommon; some found the information about their soulmate too personal to share, especially those whose partner's had died unnaturally before they met. Very few questioned him about it, and those who did were easily brushed off.

 

Throughout university, his few temporary jobs, and then when he joined Torchwood One, he tried to forget about how his second clock was different to everyone else's. He always kept an eye on both clocks, though; Firstly, so he wasn't too surprised when he felt his partner dying, as he was now convinced was what was happening- especially now he spent his days working in the archives at Torchwood One and was aware of, if still not used to, the thousands of alien races beyond their small planet. Secondly, so he could keep an eye on the blue number, growing smaller by the day. There were now less than two years until he would meet his partner, just a week until whoever it was would die again. _No matter,_ Ianto thought, _we'll meet soon enough._

 

Life was relatively good for Ianto while he worked with Torchwood London: his eidetic memory allowing him to remember a large percentage of what he read in the vast archives, also leading to his early promotion, and earning him respect across the research floors of the tower as the youngest member to rise this quickly through the ranks of the company.

 

He enjoyed the work, enjoyed learning about the 'exotic cultures from space', so called by one of his close friends in the company, another of the perks of his new job. He and Lisa were very alike, and spent much of their free time together, much to the amusement of their colleagues. They all knew, of course, that there were no romantic or sexual feelings between the two; they were both weeks away from meeting their soulmates, but joked they were just as close as any soulmates could possibly be.

 

The day of the Battle of Canary Wharf, as it came to be known, they had been taking a break together, suggesting, at the rapidly falling blue number on both their wrists, that the should have a double wedding, when screams from down the corridor alerted them to the threat. They fought side by side in the flames as their colleagues fell around them, screaming at them to just _run_. Eventually, when they were the last two left on their floor, the took the advice and fled.

 

They barely a metre from the lift when Ianto felt Lisa's hand slip from his, turning to see the terror in her eyes as she yelled for him to _get out, now._ This time, he listened immediately, as much as he was later ashamed by the fact.

 

When the aliens- cybermen, he corrected himself- were dragged into the void along with the other ones- daleks- he made his way to the basement, fighting the urge to run in the opposite direction, and searched for Lisa. When he finally found her, in pain and dying surrounded by those already dead, there was nothing he could do except hold her as she died.

 

Afterwards, he ran. Ran from the building, across the city; terrified, panicking, and covered in blood, unnoticed in the chaos. When he got back to his flat he went straight to his shower, collapsed still clothed under the spray and cried. He had no idea how long he sat there, trying to block out the screams, the heat, the smell of metal and burning flesh, but the water had long since gone cold when he got out.

 

He dried off quickly, changing his clothes and digging out an old sports bag from under his bed. Barely aware of what he was doing, he packed, shoving what he could in the bag before leaving the flat and catching a train back to Cardiff. All he knew was that he couldn't stay in London after what he'd seen, what he'd barely survived.

 

It was when he was on the train that he decided he'd try and get a job at Torchwood Three- he'd heard all about them and their Captain, and there was no way he could be happy with a regular job now, after all he'd seen. He thought he'd like it there, anyway: the rift was far more active there, and there would be so much more to learn. It was a well known fact that the archives in Cardiff were a mess, and Ianto liked a challenge.

 

Of course, he later knew that if he'd made the decision to stay, maybe his blue clock would have shown a different number from the start. But when Jack and Tosh went to his flat, the last of the 27 survivors' they needed to interview, all they found was a clearly abandoned home. They made no effort to locate the Jones kid: after all, he was just a kid, probably miles away by now, and hardly their largest concern what with all the destruction and death in the city.

 


	2. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the year 5094, a child was born in a colony on a small desert planet in the Boeshane Peninsula who, like every life-form, had two clocks on the wrist of his non-dominant arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second introductory-type chapter, and things will be picking up more in chapter three, I promise.

 

 

In the year 5094, a child was born in a colony on a small desert planet in the Boeshane Peninsula who, like every life-form, had two clocks on the wrist of his non-dominant arm. Except the child- Jack, he would one day call himself- was different. Firstly, his blue clock told him he would meet his soulmate in nearly 200 years. Despite the developments made over the past few hundreds of years, enabling humans and human-hybrids to live far longer even on the colonies, it was unheard of for any human, or even human-hybrid, to live so long. Secondly, his red clock informed him that his soulmate had died just over 3000 years ago.

 

For the first decade of his life, this news worried him almost as much as it worried his family. However, by the time he was ten he'd heard, as had everyone else, the rumours about the Time Agency, and the increasingly sophisticated vortex manipulators they possessed. From then on he'd stopped worrying. In his eyes, at least one part of the mystery was solved; he'd join the Agency, and meet his soulmate around the year 2000. The other part, well, he was sure he'd figure it out eventually.

 

His family were less relieved. His mother, for one, was not happy with the idea of him joining the Agency. She knew as much as everyone else about them, which was very little. The Agency was shady, not to be trusted, and undoubtedly dangerous. Her and Jack's father were also concerned about their son's apparently unnaturally long life. Jack, however, refused to talk about it. He simply brushed them off, telling him he'd let them know when he figured it out, when he'd travelled through time and explored the universe.

 

He was given yet another reason to join when Gray, his little brother, the one he was supposed to protect _forever_ , was lost because of him. By that night, his little family was half the size it had been that morning, and it was _all his fault_. His father was dead, there was nothing he could do about that, but Gray- he could fix that, he _would_ fix it. He promised his mother, holding her as she cried on his shoulder, that he'd find his little brother, wherever, or whenever, he was.

 

She said nothing that night, and they never spoke about what had happened, so Jack never brought up the Agency in front of her again.

 

The week after he turned 16 he signed up, giving a fake name, and was accepted- not only the youngest Agent yet, but also the first ever from Boeshane. The citizens of the Peninsular were so proud of him. All of them except his mother. She yelled, then cried, and then refused to speak to him for weeks. She was the last person he said goodbye to before he left, and she cried as she lost the last of her three men to aliens and the stars.

 

One he was given his first mission with the Agency, Jack found that although his blue clock remained constant, the red one jumped back and forth as he travelled through time. As he still had well over a hundred years left, according to his clock, before he met his partner, he focused whatever spare time between missions on finding his brother.

 

(He often thought how strange it was that even within the Time Agency- where time was relative and easily manipulated- the term 'spare time' was still widely used.)

 

Despite his talent in the field and his loyalty to the Agency, Jack woke up one morning to find that, for reasons unknown to him, two years of his memory had been wiped. Afterwards he left the Agency and became a con-man, but never stopped searching for Gray. But then he met the Doctor, and Rose, and things got a little complicated. He saw more in a few trips than he saw through years with the Agency, changed more in those brief months than in his whole life beforehand. The Doctor showed him that he didn't have to be held back by his mistakes, that he could be better, do better than he ever thought possible. He willingly lay down his life for the Doctor and Rose, for Earth. And then he woke up again.

 

There was no one around. Everyone was dead, he _was_ dead. Past tense. And the Doctor was gone, Rose and the T.A.R.D.I.S just _gone_. Maybe they just forgot him, he thought. But no, the Doctor doesn't forget, and he wouldn't be fooled that Jack was permanently dead- he was too clever for that. And if the Doctor wasn't, his ship definitely was. Which meant he wasn't here by any accident. He'd been left, alone, with only a faulty rift manipulator to help him. One trip only.

 

He aimed for 21st Cardiff. He knew the T.A.R.D.I.S refuelled on the rift there, and that the Doctor would turn up there eventually. He got the Cardiff bit right, at least. Manipulator broken and unusable for anything other than trickery he found himself stuck in 1869, the only way to get to where he wanted to be was to wait.

 

131 years. Countless hours spent working, drinking and waiting. Scores of friends and team-mates, his families through the years, lost to the death that refused to take him, just kept on spitting him back out onto the cold streets of Cardiff. Sleepless nights spent watching his blue clock tick down, waiting for what felt like forever, until 2000 finally rolled around. His latest team slaughtered at the hands of their own leader, the title handed over to him with more than a little contempt. Only seven years left, he realised with a start. Seven years, after so long waiting. Was he ready? He would be, he had to be. He'd start by rebuilding Torchwood from the ground up, rewriting their corrupt and cruel policy, making it something the Doctor could be proud of, so he in turn could be proud. So his soulmate could be proud of him, so they could share this legacy together.

 

He recruited Toshiko first, saw her talent and potential, ignored by U.N.I.T (and really, should he be surprised?), and gave her the chance to fix her mistakes, to lead a better life. Owen was next, broken after the tragedy with his soulmate, but brilliant, resilient, and excited to learn about aliens and help humanity- exactly what Jack needed. Then was Suzie- a far more risky move on Jack's part- she was private, almost too keen to get her hands on their technology, but she was gifted and demanded enough respect from the team to be his second in command. It was a good team, the best one he'd seen yet. They weren't ready yet, but they would be, he just knew it.

 

They were reasonably happy together- as happy as a bunch of broken, dysfunctional Torchwood Agents could be, really. They worked well together, got their job done quickly and only screwed up occasionally. There weren't many problems, and head office mostly left them to their own devices. That is, until July 2007 and the Battle of Canary Wharf.

 

Jack set off for London as soon as he heard the first reports of the cybermen originating from the Torchwood Tower, accompanied by Tosh and Owen. Suzie stayed in Cardiff, assuring Jack that she could handle the rift on her own for a few days. They arrived in time to see the fall of Torchwood One, the fire and destruction left once the cybermen and daleks had been sucked into the void. The Doctor had left by then, never staying around to clear up the mess, and all Jack was told was that Rose didn't make it. It shook him, for a moment, before he realised they had to be wrong. The Doctor wouldn't let that happen, he just wouldn't. He'd find a way to save her, no matter what, he just knew it.

 

The situation at the tower was worse than any of the reports later made it out to be. There were 27 survivors in all, 467 dead, the rest of the over 800 employees reported missing, assumed dead. _Because of that damn Hartman woman,_ Owen spat when they arrived, tending immediately to the more seriously injured survivors while Jack and Toshiko worked on retrieving whatever they could from the archives. It didn't take long; most of the files and artefacts had been destroyed in the battle, the few that were salvageable fitted easily in the back of the SUV. Most of the case files were on the database by now, and the artefacts had all been recorded on there too, but it was disheartening to see so much technology beyond saving.

 

When they had done all they could at the tower, Tosh and Jack went off to find the seven uninjured survivors who had left the scene as soon as they could. They found the first six easily, interviewed them, slipping retcon into drinks when necessary. The last one, however, had run, and nobody had any ideas where he might have gone. All they found out was that he was originally from Cardiff and had been living in London for five years or so. They left it at that, returning home the next day as they were no longer needed in London, U.N.I.T assured them.

 

Owen drove on the way back, giving Jack the chance to talk through some of the more familiar artefacts with Tosh. It was when he was reaching to pass one back to her that he caught sight of his blue clock, seeing it properly for the first time in weeks. His eyes grew wide when he saw the number had now fallen to show there were only seven days left. He covered it up quickly, to avoid the pained and jealous looks he knew he would earn from his team-mates if they noticed, and continued his conversation with Tosh as they sped back towards Cardiff. His heart wasn't really in it, though, his focus now on the end to his waiting, in sight after all his time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll be able to upload the next chapter in the next two days, as after that I assume I'll be too busy with GISHWHES to do much writing. If it's not up by then, It'll probably be up after a week or so.


	3. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! After the last chapter, I fell out of love with this story for a little bit, and I found I simply couldn't write the next one no matter how much I tried.  
> But, I promised myself I was never going to abandon another fic, so I got my act together and managed to write this.

He'd been back in Cardiff for four days, trying to figure out how to get a job at Torchwood Three, when he heard the all too familiar snarls of a weevil. They weren't as common in London, but attacks still happened, and all Torchwood staff had been trained in how to respond if they were ever faced with one of the rogue aliens. As soon as he heard it, Ianto knew this was his chance.

He raced around the corner, following the sounds, but was stopped dead in his tracks by the scene in front of him. The weevil was backing away and growling, warning the silhouette of a man away from him. The man didn't take heed, and Ianto watched as he edged closer, one palm out in what was supposed to be a calming gesture, the other raised with a weapon poised. Ianto made to call out to the man as he saw the weevil lurch forwards but was too late, watching as it latched it's teeth onto the man's neck ferociously. It was then that he jumped into action, rushing forwards and wrapping his arms around the weevil's neck, pressing two fingers into the side of it's throat as he had bee taught. He angled his fingers behind the creature's jaws, forcing them open and giving him the chance to pull it off the other man. He struggled with the weevil for a moment, just beginning to lose his grip when he saw the injured man inject a needle into it's neck, pressing down the syringe as quickly as he dared before pulling out a bag to cover the creature's face. Ianto felt the weevil begin to relax in his arms, no doubt sedated, and loosened his grip. The other man was holding a hand to his neck, but it appeared that his jacket had protected him to some extent, and the injury didn't seem too bad.

“Thanks,” the man panted, still catching his breath from the struggle. Now that he wasn't fighting a weevil, Ianto could see more of the man's face. He had dark hair, slightly curled and almost wet-looking with gel. His eyes were dark, too. Probably brown, although it was hard to tell in the dull lighting. He wore a t-shirt and a fake leather jacket, a gun clearly visible where it was tucked into the back of his jeans.

“No problem,” Ianto said as he checked for injuries, his own voice slightly wheezy. He frowned as the man pulled his hand from his neck, pulling some cuffs from his belt and securing the weevil before he turned with it to walk away.

“Hey,” Ianto called. “Where are you going?” 

“Thanks again,” was all the man called back to him as he turned the corner, not even a glance back in Ianto's direction. Ianto huffed, walking quickly after him as he heard a car door slamming and the sound of an engine. He picked up his pace, rushing around the corner, but was met only with the sight of a car pulling away from him, 'Torchwood' inscribed in capitals along the side of the bonnet. He swore under his breath, pulling his coat tighter around him as he turned away from the receding lights, kicking angrily at a small tuft of grass before continuing his walk home somewhat grouchily. It seemed Torchwood was the same no matter what city it was based in.

\---

 

For a 'top secret' organisation, it only took him a few days to figure out how to find them. All he had to do was ask a few discreet questions about unusual occurrences, and everyone pointed him towards the bay. After that, he spent a lot of time in coffee shops facing the waterfront, laptop out and pretending to work as he watched the people going about their business in front of him. 

It wasn't hard to identify the Torchwood employees. They walked with a certain sense of purpose and arrogance, as if everyone around them was beneath them. And then, of course, they were the ones always running towards the thing that everyone else was running away from, guns drawn and shouting instructions at one another. As far as Ianto could tell, there were four of them. There was the dark-haired man he'd met a few nights ago, a small Japanese woman, a woman with wild, curly hair, and the man in the military get-up. 

After he'd identified them, finding out where they were based was easy. They always seemed to return, muddy and bloody, to the water tower, disappearing a few steps away from the base. They occasionally appeared from the same spot, too, but more often they left via the small, unassuming tourist office at the edge of the bay. 

Figuring out a plan was somewhat more difficult. It was likely they would know who he was, after the Battle of Canary Wharf, and it was no secret that Torchwood Three had never been friendly with Torchwood One. Getting them to trust him after he'd worked there would be a challenge, but Ianto loved challenges. 

He decided, after some consideration, that it was best to flaunt his talents. He hadn't done much fieldwork, as it wasn't really such an issue in London, but he was fantastic at organising the archives. There had been a rumour in London about the state of the Torchwood Three archives, and there was no doubt that they'd need professional help to sort that out. And then there was his coffee. Most days he'd barely got any work done at Torchwood One, because every time he sat down to get started, someone else would ask him for a drink. Everyone on the floor, and plenty of others from the surrounding floors, refused to drink any coffee but his. It wasn't convenient, but Ianto would be lying if he said it wasn't flattering. 

And so, after just over a week back in Cardiff, Ianto ended up outside the tourist office with a paper mug of his coffee, waiting for the man in the military coat, who appeared to be in charge, to come out. He only had to wait for a few minutes before the door was opening and a pair of heavy black boots was walking towards him. He put on his most winning smile as the man approached, but when he stopped a few steps in front of him, his smile fell.

He'd had everything planned out; smile, make lots of eye contact, tell him what you're good at. Like any old job interview. But as the man finally stood in front of him, Ianto couldn't meet his eyes. Couldn't even look up at his face. His eyes were locked on the man's wrist. Or, more accurately, the blinking string of blue 0's along it. 

He was pulled from his trance when the man lifted his hand, pulling back the sleeve slightly to get a better look at the numbers. Ianto's head snapped up, jaw dropping as he met the other man's wide blue eyes. His hand flew immediately to his watch, pulling it off as quickly as he could while trying to to spill or drop his coffee to see his very own line of flashing blue zero's. He looked up again to see the other man begin to shake off his confusion, mouth twitching up into an enchanted smile.

“Hey,” the man said, taking a shuffling step forwards in contrast to his earlier cocky strut. 

“It's you,” was all Ianto could say, still struggling to form words as his mind tried to keep up with what was happening.

“Finally,” the man breathed, reaching out hesitantly but drawing away at the last moment, as if unsure if what he was seeing was real. And, God, he was American, Ianto smiled. “What's your name?”

“Ianto,” he said quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the other man, too. “Ianto Jones.”

“Hi, Ianto Jones,” he said with a grin. “Captain Jack Harkness.” 

“You've got to be kidding me,” Ianto laughed, shaking his head as he ducked it to avoid the other man's eyes. “Jack Harkness.”

“What?” Jack asked, voice filled with confusion. “You know me?”

Ianto couldn't reply for a moment, breath catching as a warm hand landed on his shoulder. He melted into the touch, finally giving into the urge to get closer and stepping into Jack's personal space. He didn't have time to worry if he was being forward, as Jack's hand dropped, arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in close. He mirrored the movement, hands pushing underneath the ridiculous, but strangely charming coat and landing to the small of Jack's back. He chuckled into Jack's shoulder as he felt the other man's cheek pressing against his ear.

“Uh, yeah,” he said softly, suddenly nervous that Jack would be angry about his previous employment. “I worked at Torchwood One.”

“Oh,” Jack laughed, breath tickling Ianto's ear and making him shiver. “I see. Although I can't imagine they spoke fondly of me over there.”

“Not exactly, no,” Ianto agreed, feeling Jack's lips twitch up against his neck. “It does explain one thing though.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked quietly. “What's that?” 

“Why you keep on dying.” 

“Oh,” Jack repeated sincerely, as he pulled back slightly to meet Ianto's eyes. “You know about that?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, mind again going blank under Jack's intense blue gaze. “My red clock.”

“I see,” Jack nodded, one hand dropping to rest on Ianto's waist while the other cupped his face. “You have no idea how long I've waited for you.”

And before Ianto could respond, Jack was leaning in and kissing him softly, eyes fluttering closed as their lips met. Ianto responded immediately, kissing back tentatively as he gripped the other man's shirt. Before long, they were both pulling back, grinning stupidly and blushing slightly. 

“Come on,” Jack said after a moment, reaching to take Ianto's hand and moving back towards the tourist office. “Come meet the team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am so sorry about how long it took! As an apology, I do have a second part written up that just needs a bit of tweaking, that I hope to posting after NaNoWriMo.  
> I wanted to get this posted as quickly as possible, so my editing was far less thorough than usual, so I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is currently un-beta'd, so please forgive any mistakes. I am looking for someone to beta this fic, and possibly others in the future, so if you'd be up to that please message me.


End file.
